Night Fever
The whole next day I stayed in my room, writing songs. Oscar Wilde wrote essays make his grim fate easier to bare; my distractions came in the form of finger picking and singing til my voice was hoarse. I managed about three songs that day, my creativity fuelled with burning passion. I kept half an eye on the door, secretly wishing Katya would come up and see me, but by nightfall I had resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going to. Setting down my guitar with a sigh, I started pulling on my nightdress, half-asleep, until a knock at the door snapped me awake.
For a second I was convinced it was my mother, come to take me away to some grim church institution, but my panic subsided when Katya’s head poked round the door.
“You got a second, Blondie?” she whispered in the darkness.
“Katya!” I laughed shakily with relief. “I thought- never mind. You’re here!”
She grinned “I’m here. But I won’t be here much longer. And, if you’re agreeable, neither will you be?” My heart fluttered in my chest.
“I’m taking you to a discotheque! It’s up in London, I went to it, like, every night when I was living there. And Friday night drinks are half-price! Whaddya say?”
Blinking back grateful tears, I dragged her into my room and thrust my arms around her in a ferocious hug. “Thank you,” I whispered, barely audible, into her hair. I think she understood because she nodded gently and squeezed my hand before pulling away, then flitted round my wardrobe looking for clothes.
“Darling, you MUST have something to wear! I mean, we can’t all be as gorgeous and sexy as me, but I’m sure with a little scrubbing up you’ll come up well!” she quipped playfully, examining my clothes. I looked at her outfit – it was pretty damn spectacular. She wore a dark blue slip dress with a lacy black cover on top, patterned all over with moons and stars, constellations and suns spilling out over her body. She shimmered when she walked, it was breath-taking to even look at her. I was too busy being awestruck by her outfit to notice the one she’d pulled out of my closet.
“What is THIS?” she gasped, admiring it. It was an outfit I’d made ages ago and forgotten all about, modelled off some disco dancers in Vogue. A sheaf of electric pink velvet studded with rhinestones and trouser legs flaring out into bell bottoms. I was pretty proud of sewing it, and now glad I had an occasion to actually wear it. After fluffing up my hair a little, sliding a pair of pink sunglasses into a clutch and tying the matching headband on, Katya was getting adorably impatient.
“C’mon, hurry up! I can’t wait to see your face when you first go in, you whore,” she said, tugging at my hand petulantly.
I couldn’t help giggling, whirled up in childish giddiness, but sobered up almost immediately when passing the hall. God forbid what would happen if my mother woke up now. She would… well, no use dwelling on such bad thoughts. I cleared my head as we soundlessly stepped out of the house, and chased each other all the way up the long gravel driveway.
We caught the 21:14 train to London, Katya breezily paying for my ticket.
“You’ll pay me back in more than money,” she shrugged when I tried to protest. When we got on the train I was glued to the window, my nose pressed against the glass, making a cloud of steam whenever I breathed. I was mesmerised by the way the town, so drab and grey in daylight, lit up like a thousand twinkling fireflies in the night. We swept past the lights so quickly they were almost a blur. I didn’t dare miss anything so stopped myself from blinking for as long as possible, only giving in when my eyes stung and watered, forcing me to blink hard as Katya chuckled fondly at me.
Getting off the train at King’s Cross was slightly terrifying as everyone seemed extremely important, and seemed to have a very important destination that they had to rush off to very quickly. I was bewildered, but luckily Katya stayed calm, threading my fingers through hers and weaving through the crowd effortlessly. I could see her bursting with excitement, her mouth constantly twitching with the effort of holding back a grin, her eyes sparkling like sunshine streaming through leaves on a blue-skied day. I’d never seen her so alive, and I was drunk on her ecstasy.
“Well, here she is. Club Regatta.” Katya announced the name with reverence, brandishing a hand towards the building. It seemed very unassuming from the outside, just a little grubby place next to a post office, but Katya had told me on the journey they had to keep it low-key on the outside to stop it getting raided. Despite its inconspicuous exterior, I could hear the thump of disco coming from within that pulled me like a magnet through the doors.
All the vocabulary I’d acquired in my nineteen measly years couldn’t describe how incredible the sight was when I first entered the club. Boys in fluffy pink tutus jostled for space next to tall hairy men in leather and chains at the bar. On a stage, three women (or were they women…?) in electrically coloured fur coats and make up so heavy it probably weighed 30 pounds flung themselves around the stage, to the delight of the small crowd beneath them. But the main thing that caught my eye was the throng of people on the middle of the room – dancing. Joyfully, fearlessly, no wasting time being self-conscious. The music was blasting so loud I could barely hear the talk of the people beside me. The lights whirled past in an endless flash of rainbow colours, illuminating every dark corner and lighting up every part of my brain. The only word I could think of to describe – even though I’d only ever heard it used negatively – was beautifully, unapologetically QUEER. I turned to Katya with a huge grin on my face, and before I realised what had happened she’d snapped a photo of me on a portable camera she had in her bag.
“When I get that developed, you’re getting a copy,” she promised. “Now, c’mon. There’s someone I want you to meet!”
We crossed the dance floor and went up to the bar, so Katya could lean right over and whisper something in the leather-clad barman’s ear. As she was occupied, I stared out into the dance floor, watching everyone dance around to a Bee Gees track. The sight of two women kissing caught my eye and I whipped round, blushing, just as Katya’s friend appeared from behind the bar.
“Sasha! My love, how long has it been? Как поживаешь?” Katya dipped round to kiss the person warmly on both cheeks, as I smiled shyly and looked at Sasha up and down. They looked like a work of art.
“все как обычно дорогой,” replied Sasha with dry amusement. Their eyebrows were hugely exaggerated, drawn on like a children’s cartoon, and a small felt crown rested on their bald head. But I was entranced by their outfit: a ruffled, sequinned Elizabethan gown complete with a ruff and hooped skirt. I don’t think I’d ever seen something quite so spectacular, and I’m sure my wonder shone through on my face.
“Who’s your friend, Katinka?” Sasha asked, gesturing to the barman to bring them a drink. Katya took my hand.
“This is Trixie! It’s her first time on the scene, darling. I’m showing her all the sights. Trixie, this is Sasha. I’ve known them for… well, ever!”
Sasha took my hand and kissed it gently – I found the beautiful juxtaposition of the old-fashioned gesture and the modernity of the club hilarious. I didn’t want to be rude, but wanted to ask Sasha a question so I knew how to refer to them.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Sasha. Hey, can I ask – are you a man or a woman? Just so I know how to refer to you and everything…” I felt my cheeks burning from my awkward social skills, but Sasha didn’t seem too bothered.
“I’m not either, моя любовь. That’s not a problem, is it?” They posed the question lightly, but I could hear a slight pointedness underneath. I smiled and shook my head.
“Nope! Not at all!” I said cheerfully, addressing the subtext to their question, and Sasha laughed back.
“Wonderful! Now, you’ll have a drink?” They said, spreading their hand towards the bar. Katya shook her head good-naturedly and asked for a lemonade, but I was so curious to try I ordered a Blushing Russian cocktail, tempted purely by the name. When it arrived, pink and fruity, I sipped at the straw coyly. The alcohol in it seemed to leap out of it and punch me round the face. My face crinkled a little at the unexpected taste, but I felt bolder. Perhaps it was a placebo effect, but I could feel my inhibitions ebbing away. I didn’t feel scared any more.
Two hours in, and without competition, it was the best night of my entire life. I’d taken my place at the dance floor, surprising Katya with how hopelessly unfunky I could be jiving to a KC and the Sunshine Band. I’d stood beneath the stage and flung tips at performers, screaming along with the crowd. But most of all, I’d talked: chatting with whoever would listen to me, about music and fashion and telly and goat-keeping. I’d stopped at two cocktails, feeling pleasantly buzzed but not wanting to forget a single second of the night. I was astounded by the diversity of the place – I’d never really interacted with any who wasn’t white before, from both my secluded upbringing and my mother’s less than progressive attitude. But here I was surrounded by people of every colour and ethnicity; in a community that welcomed everyone. It seemed to me, from all my naïve nineteen years, that this was a slice of heaven.
Every so often Katya would whirl past me, chainsmoking, and drag me off for a dance. I think it was mostly to check I was alright and not sitting mutely in a corner, but she pretended it was just to ‘cringe at my hopeless dancing’. Speaking of dancing, Katya was – incredible. Every time she took to the dance floor, she owned it, moving her body so compellingly and fearlessly your eye was automatically drawn to her. She flipped, she did the splits, all while mouthing along to whichever Donna Summer song was playing at the time.
“She used to perform here,” Sasha explained, on seeing my astounded face. “Before she moved away. She used to draw in huge crowds and go home with whoever tipped the most. Crazy girl – I missed her so much.”
At three in the morning, my feet ached, my throat stung from talking too much, and my eyes itched with tiredness. Promising myself I would come back here, I tugged at Katya’s hand until she left the dance floor and we tripped back to the train station, laughing manically with joy that couldn’t be held back.